Stepping Out
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Castle and Beckett take dance lessons to prepare for some undercover work.  Hilarity and angst ensue for our writer.  Vague Spoiler Alert for 4x18 "A Dance with Death". EPILOGUE added.
1. Chapter 1

**Stepping Out**

**This is an idea loosely based around the concept for Ep 4x18 "A Dance with Death" It's so loose I hate to even claim a spoiler alert. Not sure how long this will be, but chapter one made me laugh. Let me know if you want more.**

**Chapter 1 – Shall We Dance?**

"Castle, you step on one, not two or three, and definitely not on my toes. This is ballroom, not that hip hop, freestyle, dad dancing stuff you normally engage in."

"I can dance. I'm a good dancer," he says, indignantly.

"Yeah, if you were dancing _and_ having a seizure at the same time," says Kate, snorting out a laugh at him.

Yes, she actually just snorted at him, threw her head back and everything, and he couldn't be more affronted.

So he glares at her. Glares. Dancing was supposed to be fun. Dancing with her had always seemed like it might be the closest they would ever get to having sex standing up, with all their clothes still on. Boy was he wrong. Not. Sexy. At. All.

Okay, so she's still sexy. He can't deny that, and half the people in their class – that's all of the straight men, and a couple of the gay ones too, hell even half the women – are staring at her as Castle guides her around the floor.

He's always known that Kate was competitive, but today he's finding out that she also loves to be teacher's pet. A quality that's becoming abundantly clear the more time they spend in this stupid class.

* * *

><p>They're at an Arthur Murray Dance Studio on West 57th Street in Midtown Manhattan to get some lessons before they go undercover on a case that involves the brutal slaying of sequin-clad, dance contest entrants at a ballroom in Columbus Circle.<p>

The sign over the door says, "The Magic Starts Here", and Castle's eyes lit up when they arrived, full of hope for the magic he and Kate might find beneath the sparkle of a disco ball.

Now he wants to sue someone for making false statements, and possibly setting their relationship back several months, if further back for them is even possible.

Because they've been here barely a half hour, and Kate has already accused him of having two left feet, and Castle _knows_ what it means when a woman tells a man that she thinks he can't dance. He's overheard the way women use it as shorthand for being poor in the sack. It's code, like comparing the length of your middle and index fingers. Highly indicative, a search tool the fairer sex use to sift the wheat from the sexual chaff. Castle knows he's the exception to this stupid rule. But at this rate, Kate's going to write him off before they even get to first base.

So he's holding her lightly as they (attempt to) glide around the floor to Michael Buble's 'Everything'. The fast waltz is making him dizzy, and the words of the song are playing at his lips, and Kate is…_oh_! He thinks he maybe sang that last bit out loud, because she's staring at him with a shocked look on her face; something between confusion, and embarrassment, and hope, and maybe…is that _love_?

"Keep up, Castle," she grits in his ear, breaking the moment.

Was there a moment? He thought there maybe was. He thinks he sang the words '_It's you, it's you. You make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything._' But his eyes were closed, and her breath was on his neck, feathering light puffs of air across his skin, making him tingle and forcing him to concentrate for all he's worth on not tripping, or at least not too often, and certainly not doing what felt completely natural in the moment, which was to drag her off to the cloakroom and strip that skin-tight jersey dress, which is clinging to every curve and teasing every sinew in his body, right off her sexy frame.

So he takes (another) deep breath, and thinks of fat men. Yes, naked, fat, hairy men, this is good, until the urge to get Kate Beckett naked passes, and he can focus back on this stupid dance. On the way she moves under his hands, the way her breasts brush up against his chest, and the way her…oh dear god, _so not helping_!

"Castle, time out," hisses Kate, pulling him off the floor and heading for the water cooler.

* * *

><p>He watches her throat work as she swallows down a whole cup of water in one go. The last drop catches on her bottom lip and then glides down her chin, her throat, and on down into the alluring valley of her cleavage. His mouth has gone dry, and she's staring at him. He thinks she might have said something and is waiting for an answer. But he's so adrift right now he's not sure of his own name, and anyway, Kate Beckett never asks questions that easy.<p>

"Castle, you okay? You didn't strain something?" she asks, laughing at him again.

"Very funny, Beckett."

He's miserable. So turned on, and love sick, and desperate, and yet he hates her all at the same time. How is it even possible to end up such a clueless, shattered wreck after just thirty minutes of dancing?

His mother had warned him that a ballroom floor might be more foe that friend in his quest to win Kate Beckett's heart. But as usual, he had scoffed in the face of adversity, and embraced the chance to get more 'hands on' in his plan to move things along.

* * *

><p>Now they're taking a break, watching the class show-offs, (the losers, Castle's dubbed them) dressed in feathers, sequins, and neon Lycra, twirl their way around the floor. These guys look semi-pro, and he makes a mental note to add that to his Class Action suit. Because his eye catches that of other, equally tortured looking men around the room. Men who've been dragged here by over-zealous partners, probably with the promise of bedroom favors to come, and he can see how short changed they look. Castle hasn't had the promise of anything, so he figures his name can go at the top of the list. He's due some compensation after this. Hell, if things don't pick up, he might need therapy, and that doesn't come cheap.<p>

So he looks at his feet, curses them silently, and mentally prepares himself for round two.

**_Thoughts?_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Stepping Out**

**Thanks for the reviews guys! I'm ashamed to admit that I laughed so hard at this that my partner closed the door on me. Oops! **

**Chapter 2 – Let's Sit This One Out**

Kate's sitting quietly beside him, all poise and elegance, feet neatly placed together, a wonderful smile pressed to her lips as she watches their fellow classmates glide around the room on invisible clouds of air. Castle sees how happy this makes her, and he wants to be the one who puts a smile like that on her face. So, against his own better judgment, he stands, bows at the waist in front of her, and gallantly offers her his hand.

"Beckett, care to dance?"

But she ducks her head around him, trying to keep her eyes trained on the semi-pros (the losers), and distractedly mutters, "No, Castle. Let's sit this one out."

_Shit!_ She's turned him down flat, and people are staring. No…_guys _are staring, giving him pitting looks, like they know all too well how _that_ feels, and that they think he was insane to even try it on with the hottest woman in the room anyway.

'_But she's with me_,' he wants to scream at them. '_We even kissed, once, and it was so hot we never went there again.'_

But he just sits back down instead, and stares at his shoes some more, wondering how it came to this.

* * *

><p>He's plucking up the courage to ask her again - if they're not here to dance then why the hell <em>are<em> they here? Because he's pretty sure the NYPD aren't paying her, (they're definitely not paying him), to sit around and watch egomaniac New Yorker's parade around in Spandex as if they're finalists at the World Dance Championships.

But, as he takes a deep breath, preparing to win her over with his legendary charm this time, he notices from way across the room, the Latin Lothario who is their dance instructor, making his way across the floor towards them. No, scratch that - towards Beckett…like a heat-seeking, freaking missile!

Kate's still in her '_little girl who once led the ballet troop in Sleeping Beauty_' haze, and so she doesn't see Fernandez (and what the hell kind of name is that anyway?) approaching. He bows low in front of her, clicks his little Cuban heels, and extends his hand to her, with the words, "Pleez say you dance with me, beautiful laydee?"

Castle snorts, waiting for Kate to shoot him down in flames…but the fireworks never come. Because, bloody hell, she's standing, and now she's taking this sleezeball's hand, and what the hell? Castle's watching his girl walk off into the sunset…okay, onto the dance floor, with Antonio freaking Banderas, and he's totally speechless.

Apart from the heel-clicking thing and the cheesy line, the guy totally stole Castle's act, and yet _he's_ getting some action. He's so freaked out now he's wondering if it's about the shoes? Does Beckett like guys who wear heels? Did Dr. Motorcycle Boy wear heels? He can't remember. His brain won't work.

His guy-pals, the Class Action gang, as he now thinks of them, are throwing sympathetic looks in his direction.

* * *

><p>Fernandez is over six feet tall, tan, slim, muscular, and wearing an all black outfit so tight-fitting you would be hard-pressed to slip a nickel between fabric and skin. His pants are so tight that his crotch should have an R rating, and they're so high waisted he's giving Simon Cowell a run for his money. His shirt is slashed to the top of said pants, exposing his chest, which is smooth and oiled and Castle just bets that he waxes. He could weep. This guy is walking the line between man and hermaphrodite, and <em>Kate picked him<em>! Yes, he has a 27" waist and hips like a girl…and _Kate picked him!_

He's trying focus on breathing, fighting the urge to take this Nancy-boy down, when his attention shifts from his clenched fists to the rest of the class, who are oohing and ahhing at something out on the floor. When he looks up, breathing becomes a forgotten art altogether, because what the class is fixated on is Kate, Kate and this creature, moving around the floor like they've been doing it forever. He hates the guy with a passion, but he has to hand it to him – Kate's never looked more beautiful, or more free than she does out there.

And Castle feels sick as a dog.

* * *

><p>They glide, they twirl, they float and they spin. At one point Fernandez dips Kate so low that Castle's sure her top is going to pop open, and he holds his breath in anticipation, but the moment passes and the jersey dress stays put.<p>

This has got to be one of _the_ most disappointing days of his life! Not only is he stuck on the sidelines, upstaged by this Central Casting Latin Lover, but he's been reduced to perving at his own partner for fun. He can do that any day, sitting beside her desk at the precinct, without the humiliation this adventure is causing him.

He closes his eyes, willing time to pass, and now he's pretty sure Fernandez Badass Banderas is throwing in a few lifts, because his traitorous classmates are going wild, cheering and whistling. Castle can't look. He thinks his heart might actually break if he has to see her in this guy's arms, upside down or not.

Finally, enough is enough. He's a man, and he's wounded, and no man in this room could blame him for giving up. In fact, he tells himself, it's a smart man who knows when to call it quits. So he rises from his chair and turns towards the door. But, before he gets halfway along the mirrored wall, something catches his eye in the reflection of the room.

"Castle, grab me a towel, and then come dance with me," instructs Kate Beckett, all sweaty, and glowing, and joyful, and deliciously out of breath, and the smile she gives him might just be the start of something…so who could refuse a request like that?


	3. Chapter 3

**Stepping Out**

**Chapter 3 – The Dance of Love**

He swallows hard as he hands her the towel, and watches, agog, as she delicately pats herself down, dabbing at her forehead, her temples, her upper lip, her neck, and down, down in between the soft swell of her breasts which are coated with a slick sheen of perspiration. Damp curls frame her face, and he itches to reach out and brush his fingers through them, blinks slowly instead.

She looks directly at him, licks her lips, and dumps the used towel back in his hands. He resists the urge to press it to his face and inhale deeply, but only because he hears her call his name.

"Castle, you coming?"

He just might be, he thinks, trembling. But then he drops the towel and obediently follows her onto the floor.

* * *

><p>The class is gathering, everyone paired off, the losers, the class action gang; they're all standing, waiting patiently for the teacher to begin instructing them in the next dance.<p>

Kate's made her way to the front (teacher's pet), and Castle follows her reluctantly. Like they really need to be in the first row to follow this chump's high-pitched screeching? He's pretty sure there are dogs in New Jersey that know how to dance thanks to this guy.

He looks over at Kate. She's still hanging on the instructor's every word, absorbing each vowel he strangles and abuses with his phony Latin accent, a look of delighted excitement on her face. And suddenly Castle feels like a heel, for being so churlish, for wanting to deny her this fun interlude in her dark, death-filled life. At least she's here with him, right?

_Wrong!_

Because Fernandez is asking for a volunteer, actually not so much calling for one as pointing at Kate and now…_oh_, just stepping forward and taking her by the hand. She throws Castle a look, part apology (the smallest part), part delight, part 'what the hell, let's live a little'. And so, he's left standing, partner-less and alone, in the middle of the front freaking row (her fault) when Fernandez announces,

"Now, we do zee Rumba. Zee dance of luuuuve!"

* * *

><p>The class mutters excitedly, and a frisson of something risqué passes through the room, accompanied by a few nervous giggles and a couple of manly groans.<p>

Castle, on the other hand, is rudderless. So he steps out of the line, and off to the side. But before he can make it all the way to that hole in the floor he hopes might just open up and swallow him, a hand grasps his elbow - cool, strong fingers that stop his progress, and halt him on the spot.

"We dance, you and me. And don't worry, I catch you if you fall," says an exotic voice, close to his ear.

Castle's head whips round so fast he thinks he might have pulled something, but what he sees when he turns around is worth the pain and the effort. _Oh yeah!_ Two can play at this game, Beckett. Because he's staring straight into the dark, smoky eyes of a Latin Dance goddess.

_Bring it on!_

"Marietta," she purrs, extending a slim, tan hand for him to shake. Long red nails graze his palm. The studio lighting reflects off her oiled, black as ebony hair, which is pulled low, and tight into a bun at the nape of her long, sensual neck.

"Rick," he answers, drawing out the r in a manner suspiciously similar to the one he's been criticizing Fernandez for using. But who cares if this woman's prepared to drape herself around him like this?

Rick Castle can do Latin Lover in his sleep…_'yeah in your dreams, Castle_.' He hears Beckett taunt him in his head, pushes her out of his brain long enough to let his hands fall to this temptress' curvy waist, encircling her with his large palms as the Cuban beat starts up, vibrating through the floor, tickling his toes and waking him up.

* * *

><p>Arms are fluid, extended, fingers stretched, like they are transmitting electricity Fernandez explains, and Marietta demonstrates for him, snaking a slender arm across the front of his body, brushing his chest, his…<em>Jeez lady!<em> Shit that was hot. He's awake now and sparks are definitely flying!

Ladyboy has moved onto hip action, something about stepping onto a straight leg just as '_zee beeeet' _breaks. But Castle's getting muddled already, his brain fogged by the slide and play of this woman's body over his. She's standing in front of him, her back pressed against his chest, and she's placed his hands back at her waist. Now she's wiggling (it's the only way he can think to describe it), up against him, her rear brushing against his manhood, yip, definitely how he'd describe _that, _snaking her body down the length of him as she twists and swivels on bent knees, and then works her way deliciously back up, wiggling all the way.

He's temporarily forgotten all about Kate Beckett, but his brain clears long enough to check back on her progress with lover boy. And what he sees is not what he expects to see. Because while he and Marietta are getting to know one another rather well, instead of the '_no one puts Beckett in a corner'_ display he thinks is going down, Kate looks rather stiff and uncomfortable, and she's staring directly at _him_.

_Busted!_

But, oh…Marietta is purring in his ear again, telling him to step on two and three, he thinks…maybe…but what about one and four? He's losing the ability to count, and concentrate, because while a complete stranger in red and black lace is rubbing her body up and down his, and counting in his ear…yes, _counting!_ (Math was never this hot in Miss Kominsky's class), Kate Beckett is staring at him like he just slept with her best friend and then bragged about it on Twitter.

But she's had her fun, floating around the floor with Javier Bardem, and this is his turn, right? Because it looks like Salma Hayek, sorry Marietta, hasn't finished with him yet. The music is reaching a crescendo and he feels her leg hook around the back of his thigh as she hold onto his hands and bends over backward, her mons pubis pressed against his…

"Castle, you ready to switch?"

_Damn!_ He nearly drops Marietta in his flail to peel her off his body and distance himself from this hot, Latin tramp, like a cheating husband caught in the arms of the teenage babysitter.

"Switch?" he asks dumbly. Have they inadvertently landed in the middle of a swinger's party? Because nothing about today would surprise him anymore.

"Dance partners," she explains patiently, holding out her hand to him. An olive branch?

He gladly takes her hand, blinking when she smiles shyly at him, always on the back foot with her – whether they're dancing or not.

He's not sure when she left exactly, but when he looks around, Marietta is nowhere to be seen, and the class is reforming into rows, preparing for more torture.

The music changes - Pink Martini's version of Amado Mio filling the studio with delicious sensuality as Kate Beckett drapes herself around him, determined to show him just what hip action is all about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Stepping Out**

**Chapter 4 – Slow, Slow, Quick, Quick, Slow!**

'_Amado Mio, Love me forever, And let forever begin tonight' _goes the song, as China Forbes' throaty voice fills the studio, rasping over the words, tugging at Castle's chest, and threatening to split him wide open.

Their classmates are stumbling around them, giggling as hips smash together, and clumsy feet struggle to keep up with the rhythm. Someone's muttering '_slow, quick, quick, slow_," somewhere off to their right, and they narrowly avoid colliding with Larry the Lawyer and Suzie the Secretary. (Not their real names, but who the hell cares?) Because Kate Beckett is almost pressed up against him, and they're working on a basic, Rumba box step, rather successfully he's pleased to report, with a few Cuban walks thrown in for good measure, just as Fernandez showed them.

"No, no! _Closer_. You must be _closer_!" yells the Banderas wannabe, physically grasping Castle's rear end, and shoving him up against Kate's body until there's no space left between them.

Castle throws her an apologetic look, and tries to telegraph, 'don't shoot me, I'll back off as soon as this creep show leaves us alone.' But when the instructor twirls away to leap on another unsuspecting couple, satisfied that he's solved this particular crime against dance, Kate makes no move to step away. In fact, he feels her fingers tighten on his arm and spine, pulling him closer.

_What the hell? Seriously!_

* * *

><p>He's counting in his head, brain fusing with panic, trying not to look at his feet, and definitely not looking at her face. Because if he does, and her expression is anything less than devoted, he thinks he'll be crushed once and for all.<p>

Because, the way she's moving against him; as if she likes it, wants this…wants _him_, it's driving him insane, and if she's faking it for the sake of an undercover op, then he's sure it's time to call it quits for good. Because if this woman is _this_ good at faking it in public, and he ever gets her between his sheets, he knows, _knows_ that he won't be able to separate fact from fiction when it comes time to make her scream.

* * *

><p>"You're drifting, Rick."<p>

Her voice rumbles low, and seductive next to his ear, the use of his first name as effective as her hot, wet tongue flicking at his earlobe. (Well, it would be if…) His eyes fall closed for a second and she chuckles. Oh, wicked, Kate.

"Drifting?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her smirking face. Their eyes meet for the first time since the song started to play and a slow smolder begins.

"Mmm hmm," she nods, ducking her head beside his neck, lips suppressing a smile, long, dark lashes grazing her cheek as her hair tumbles down the side of his face, curls tickling him, and oh god she smells so good that he thinks he might faint. Yeah, okay – so maybe he's forgetting to breathe, that might be part of it, but up close, _this close_, she's intoxicating. Better than any single malt or drug he's ever tried.

* * *

><p>They break apart for several seconds, perfecting their Underarm Turn, but it feels lonely and empty without her pressed in close, and Kate evidently feels the same way, because her breasts and hips are back, welded to his, before he gets a chance to lead the maneuver himself.<p>

She runs a hand through her hair, tipping her head back and exposing her pale, creamy throat to him as she shimmies _her_ body down over _his_ body. He thinks he saw this move on the Discovery Channel once; something about a submissive act, but he's pretty certain it was chimps or gorillas baring their throats to one another, and he wonders if the same thing applies to humans? Well, Kate Beckett, at any rate, because there are times, like right now, when what she's doing to him could definitely be called _in_human. Her chest is rubbing against his abs, as her legs skim his thigh, and when her face comes level with his once more, her eyes are closed.

_For gods sake woman!_ _Stop!_

* * *

><p>"You wanna take a break?" he finally chokes out, the heat they're generating threatening to set him alight.<p>

He thinks he might actually cry if she keeps this up much longer, nearly certain that a sob is threatening to break free from his painfully constricted throat.

"Do you?" she asks, and it comes out as something of a challenge, served with a side of disappointment.

"No. I…I was thinking of _you_," he offers gallantly.

_About your walls, and your invisible boundaries that I'm pretty sure we're trampling all over right now._ But though he thinks this part, he wisely leaves it out, and she takes his offer on board, and graciously hands it back to him.

Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth; pink, and plump, and glossy, when she says,

"We need the practice…and, besides, I'm having fun."

_With you_, say her eyes and her wandering hands.

* * *

><p>But the music has stopped, Castle realizes with a jolt, and their classmates are staring at them as they continue to Rumba to a soundtrack only they can hear.<p>

"Beckett," he hisses, taking hold of her wrists as she snakes her arms down his body for the umpteenth time, a move that never gets any easier to bear. He's kicking himself for stopping her, but _really_…there's nothing else for it, the way people are rubbernecking; gawping slack-jawed as they watch them perform this sex pantomime in the middle of the floor.

"Oh," is all she says, quietly, before dropping her hands and stepping away from him a little. But, thankfully, only a little.

"I see some of you, the true lovers among you, are leetle experts at the Rumba already," purrs Fernandez, singling them out with an envious gaze.

An attractive blush creeps up Kate's neck, and Castle closes his eyes in mortification. '_She's a homicide detective, and I'm just her partner_', he has a sudden, irrational urge to yell out, only he's not sure that's completely true anymore, not if the way she's looking at him is anything to go by.

"Now, we try zee American Smooth," announces Bad Boy Bardem, picking a new victim as his partner, leaving Rick and Kate, the Rumba _sexperts_, to learn this one together.

"Well, we're both American, and one of us is definitely _smooth_. So this should be a breeze," she whispers in his ear, her fingers sliding into his back pants pocket, grazing his ass and setting off fireworks, (just when the hell did she get this close?), and Castle chokes, triggering a coughing fit that has several dancers looking worriedly in his direction while Kate innocently pats his back with a satisfied grin on her face.

Yes, wicked, wicked Beckett!


	5. Chapter 5

**Stepping Out**

**Chapter 5 – Show Me Your Moves!**

Once his coughing fit subsides, Castle has the presence of mind to retrieve Kate's hand from the back of his pants before she can do anymore damage. He holds onto her wrist and yanks her round to face him. Time to show the woman who's boss. He's been messed around enough for one day.

But Kate's not finished with him yet.

"American Smooth, Castle. Not the Pasodoble," she scolds gently, tugging playfully on the front of his shirt while he holds on tightly to her wrist. Her lips are inches from his, he can feel her breath on his cheek, and they aren't even '_in hold'_ yet.

_She's going to kill him!_

He's convinced by this point - there's no way he'll survive today. No way in hell. In fact, he should really be calling his mother and daughter right now to say his fond farewells, because Kate Beckett is slowly killing him, with the looks, and the touching, and her voice, and her body, and it's all such sweet torture. He can think of worse ways to go.

Can dancing be fatal? Maybe they've solved this case without even trying – perhaps the pro dancers went up in a flash of pyrotechnics, just like he's sure he's about to?

So he goes back to ninja mind control, thinking of something sad this time to calm himself down – like eggs without chocolate and marshmallow, coffee without cream, apples without cherries, Alexis off at college, Ryan without Esposito, Rick without Kate. Okay, scratch that last one, because even the mention of her name is getting him hot, and she's walking back towards him, so he needs to get a grip.

* * *

><p>"Oh Castle," she calls as she crosses the floor, her voice a teasing singsong, full of flirtation and promise.<p>

_Killing him...she's literally killing him!_

"Beckett?" he replies, his voice barely a squeak, catching in his throat. He sounds like a teenage boy for god's sake! Get. A. Grip.

"You gonna show me your…" she smirks, pauses a beat or two.

"Show you my…?" he swallows, _hard_.

"Your _smooth_, partner?" she laughs, throwing her head back and tugging him back to the floor.

Oh this is it…_game on!_

* * *

><p>Fernandez explains, in his rudimentary English, which is actually starting to grow on Castle, that the American Smooth incorporates steps from four ballroom disciplines – the Viennese Waltz, Foxtrot, Tango, and today, they're starting with a Waltz.<p>

The class is instructed to take their partners in hold, beginning in a closed position. Translation: _full body contact_.

Castle eyes Kate up, walks around her, flexes his shoulders, cracks his knuckles, rolls up his sleeves, and then delays some more.

Kate looks flighty, overeager, her eyes all bright and shiny. He's never seen her looking so keen to get so hands on…_with him_, and it's troubling him – _deeply_.

"What's wrong Castle? You struggling with the concept of full body contact?" she taunts, her eyes laughing, lips twitching.

"No," he huffs, his hands now stuffed in his pockets.

"Then why don't you get your ass over here? No way we're managing full body contact with you stood way over there," she points out, quite reasonably, since he's still out with arms reach.

So they meet, bodies aligned, hips slightly offset, her chest pressed up against his (again), her right hand in his left, two arms extended. Then Castle's right hand settles tentatively at her back, and finally, Kate's left hand comes to rest on his well-defined bicep, and she squeezes lightly, once, catching his eye as she does so, knowingly. _Full. Body. Contact. _

* * *

><p>Castle's back to struggling with the breathing thing, but Kate seems to be in her element, and she's not protesting that he's getting too close or touching her in the wrong places, and he's thinking maybe 'next time without the Tiger' might be a not too distant possibility, if he can just pass this test. So he concentrates. <em>Hard!<em>

They learn some basic steps, and pretty soon they're having fun, spinning around the room, laughing, and it feels pretty good. They're used to working as a team, (cuffed or not) and so they pick up the Waltz quickly, lapping their classmates as they work the floor, fluid and light.

The look in her eye tells Castle that Kate's as aware of his body against hers, as he is of her, and he's pretty sure she's not objecting. Her back is arched to perfect the ballroom posture, head turned elegantly to the side, pressing the lower half of her body firmly up against his, and as they move together, the friction of skin against fabric, and fabric against skin is delicious torture.

Long forgotten hours spent humiliating themselves in High School gym class come flooding back, and they start to trade stories, losing themselves in reminiscing as they travel the wooden dance floor. Two songs later, and they're definitely flirting, delighting one another with naughty word games - verbal foreplay, really; the art form they've made it their business to perfect over the years.

* * *

><p>"Face to face - back to back," calls out the instructor, naming steps he wants them to perform, and Kate laughs in Castle's ear, carrying on the word play they've started.<p>

"You've got _my_ back," she giggles breathlessly.

_Yes!_ Kate Beckett just giggled…like a _girl!_

Her lips skim the shell of his ear when she speaks, sending sparks of desire down his spine, and he pulls her closer to him.

"Simple Twinkle," yells Fernandez to the class, and Castle leans in this time.

"In your eye. There's a simply beautiful twinkle in your eye."

Kate laughs, playing along, but the air is turning serious around them. His hand tenses at her back, holding her tighter, her fingers brush the underside of his arm, stroking rhythmically, their joined hands grip just a little too firmly, and her hips… _My god!_

The class goes on dancing, twirling and rotating, but Kate and Castle slow to a stop, like a spinning top that's run out of steam. And just like a spinning top they're both humming when they slow, happy simply being together, eyes sparkling with possibility, and the aura of shared longing.

Then they're standing staring at one another, speechless, oblivious to the room and the music, teetering on the verge of something.

Castle drags her off to the side of the floor as Ferdandez shouts out,

"Grapevine."

"Let's get out of here," Kate says urgently. "We need to find the nearest bar. There's a bottle of red with our name on it," she adds, tugging on Castle's hand. "That's the only grapevine I want to get close to tonight."

They don't stop to look round. Don't care if their classmates or the teacher will miss them. They just have to get out of there right now, because they've worked themselves into a hot mess of need, separately and together, and now they need privacy to work out what it means.

* * *

><p>Kate's wild child side is showing as she drags Castle out into West 57th Street, a woman on a mission, laughing giddily that they're cutting class. He so rarely gets to see her in a dress, so he gladly follows half a pace behind just to get a better view as he tails her down the street.<p>

Castle suddenly realizes that they're just over a block from the Plaza Hotel, and his heart is in his mouth as he weighs making a suggestion that will either bring them both delicious relief or lead to the kind of painful, crushing rejection he's come to expect. _From Kate._

She stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling Castle to a standstill beside her. Her face is beautiful; open, hopeful and needy. It takes his breath away, how vulnerable and exposed she looks, and he feels as if he might actually be staring into a mirror, because it's his own face her sees reflected in hers. These are _his_ emotions she's displaying, the ones he's been perfecting hiding from her for months.

His heart nearly stops when he hears her say,

"_Plaza?_"

It's barely a breathless whisper, but he heard it, and there's no way he's letting her take it back. Not now that it's out there. But it doesn't look as if she wants to anyway.

So, he squeezes her hand, and decides to take the lead for a change, drawing her up 5th Avenue, until they round the corner at Bergdorf Goodman, pass the Pulitzer Fountain in Grand Army Plaza, and then run lightly up the front steps of the Plaza Hotel together, dizzy and a little out of breath.

* * *

><p>The lobby is hushed and cool, the thick carpeting muffling all sound, until they pass by the entrance to the Palm Court. Music is drifting out into the hallway, and Castle feels his brain tune into the slow, quick, quick, slow rhythm, and he nearly groans out loud, because they're so close to heaven. But Kate Beckett and music, it's like a siren call. He turns to look at her.<p>

"Tea dance," he notes dumbly, his heart sinking when he sees her radiant smile. Because if this is what she wants, he knows there's no way he'll be able to refuse her. He has no defenses when it comes to this woman – can't refuse her a thing.

So, when she turns to him, her thumb idly stroking the soft skin on the inside of his wrist as she holds onto his hand, and then leans in close, her breast brushing against his arm, he's not sure what to expect.

He holds his breath.

"Rick," she says softly, tugging on his hand, pulling him to her, face flushed. "The only dance we're gonna be doing is the horizontal tango."

And he laughs out loud.

With this promise, she leads him towards reception, hazel eyes sparkling, a seductive smile on her face, vivacious and confident.

"Time to show me your moves, Richard Castle," she throws over her shoulder.

And now he knows – he's going to die a very happy man.


	6. EPILOGUE  Tango Fandango

**Stepping Out**

**A/N: Okay, this story was supposed to be complete, but some of you asked for this, so I've written it. The hilarity dies down a bit and things turn a little more serious. These characters – what can you do? But I think it's still sweet. Someone asked what the M rating was for on this story – I guess it was for this. You've been warned. Let me know what you think?**

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue – Tango Fandango<strong>

Kate hovers by Castle's side in front of the check-in desk while the receptionist examines the Plaza's room availability. What had been an impetuous idea, born of lust generated on the dance floor and spur of the moment madness, was now seeming a little unwise, given their obvious lack of luggage, and Kate's handsy behavior in the hush of the hotel lobby.

Because quite frankly, they have late afternoon quickie written all over them.

"Mr. and Mrs…?" enquires the Eastern European blonde, smiling tightly at them, her voice lifting with the obvious sham of a question.

"Castle," replies Castle confidently, as Kate fiddles with the little button on the back of his pants pocket, distracting him to the point of insanity. Apparently she's not even listening, since she raises no objection to his lie about their marital status.

Castle grabs hold of her hand, tugging her alongside him like an errant child who needs to be kept in full view to prevent further misbehavior. But Kate just turns side on and resumes her flirtation with his clothing.

"We, eh, have a lovely double room for you on the tenth floor, or we can do a…"

"We'll take it," rushes Castle, desperate to get Kate somewhere private before the urge to throw her across the Guest Services desk becomes too strong to resist.

"I'll just need an imprint of your credit card for any incidentals, Mr. Castle," says polite, patient Ekaterina, who is trying hard to turn a blind eye to Kate's friskiness.

Yeah, there's no way this pair are married her look says.

* * *

><p>Three years, countless hours of longing and dreaming, fantasizing and scheming, and all it would have taken was a stupid dance class, thinks Castle, as Kate runs her nails all the way up his back, firing sparks of electricity across his skin and down through his muscles.<p>

"You okay?" he asks, turning to look at her, quite unable to believe his luck. Because, honestly, her behavior's starting to worry him a little.

If he didn't know better, he'd say she was drunk. But she's just smiling contentedly at him, looking more relaxed than he thinks he's ever seen her. _Okay_, so he'll go with the flow for now. No sense asking too many questions, and risk shutting her down. Kate Beckett wants to get jiggy with him, who's he to complain?

The (Slavic?) blonde hands him two key cards and tells them to enjoy their stay, her knowing smile loaded with something like dirty collusion. He thanks her, and quickly takes Kate's hand, walking her to the elevator ahead of him, his other hand pressed against her back to propel her forward.

* * *

><p>The doors slide open and they step inside, Kate first of course. When they turn to face front Castle reaches for the button for the tenth floor, but an elderly couple with a small, white, fluffy dog are heading their way, and the woman catches Castle's eye before he can hit Door Close. So, he groans inwardly, and presses the Door Open button instead, waiting patiently while the woman takes a torturous amount of time to offload Matilda, (what a stupid name for a dog) onto the floor, untangle her lead, and then shuffle into the elevator after her. The woman smiles warmly at both of them, her eyes twinkling as she takes in Kate's amorous stance.<p>

The tall detective is standing behind Castle now, with an arm wrapped around his waist and her chin resting on his shoulder. In fact, _draped_ is the word he thinks he could legitimately use, and he files it away for future reference as a potential Nikki Heat descriptor.

"Honeymoon?" asks the woman, grinning at the pair.

'_No, first time,'_ Castle nearly blurts. But he wisely goes with, "Anniversary," instead, grinning cheekily as he reaches behind to kiss Kate's cheek, hoping to shut the conversation down before Beckett gets any naughty, playful ideas to embarrass him. Somehow, today, they've stumbled into a complete roll reversal. Because since when was _he_ the responsible one?

Finally the elevator stops at Matilda's floor, and her aging parents shuffle out after her. Castle breathes a sigh of relief, and Kate peels herself off of him, coming back to stand by his side, her pinky tracing delicious, random patterns on the outer edge of his thigh.

"Anniversary?" asks Kate, missing nothing. "What are we celebrating, Castle?" she teases, too playful by half as she bumps him with her hip.

"I…uh. I have no idea. But I'd kill for a glass of Champagne. So, let's just make something up," he suggests, feeling a little stressed, somewhat out of control, and totally in need of a drink.

His mind is a blank white space, filling up with panic and a deep fear that this is all just a cruel joke and he's about to be bitterly disappointed.

"First time," Kate points out bluntly, to Castle's amazement.

No mystery where this is headed then.

But, of course _he knows_ it's their first time. Jeez woman. Where have you _been_?

"Do we need anything _bigger_ than that to celebrate?" she asks flirtatiously, her hand slipping down to brush his crotch.

"Guess not," he chokes in reply, a little stupidly and a whole lot distracted, because the way she said 'bigger' and the care she's taking to feel him up has him swallowing nervously. Not the time for performance anxiety, big boy, he tells himself. _So_ not the time for that!

* * *

><p>Castle fumbles the key card in the lock, while Kate shifts impatiently at his side, eventually snatching the piece of plastic out of his hand and stabbing it into the door herself. Of course, the green light flashes on <em>her<em> first attempt, and she pushes him triumphantly through the door backwards, her hands on his lapels.

"If you can't put the key in the lock, Castle," she drawls, "I'm getting kinda worried about your ability to find my…ahhh," she squeals, as he tackles her, lifting her up and carrying her towards the supremely large bed. He shuts her up with his mouth on hers, and his large hands wrapped around her butt and her upper back.

They hit the mattress with a bounce, and Kate kicks off her heels, scooting backwards and pulling him down on top of her. They're both breathing hard and laughing, a tangle of arms and legs, until they find themselves staring into one another's eyes, faces inches apart, pupils dilating, and then the laughter dies away to a single hiccup. Their smiles drop a little, becoming shy and a little self-conscious.

* * *

><p>"Hey there," says Castle quietly, as he balances above her, one knee resting between her legs, their pelvises connected.<p>

He has her arms pinned above her head, and she isn't resisting him one little bit. In fact her quiet submission is making him hot, and he flashes back to the dance class. Is this the horizontal tango she promised, because he's hoping for a perfect ten?

"Hey, yourself," says Kate, smiling up at him, finally freeing a hand to trace the outline of his cheek and jaw ever so gently with her fingertips. "How'd we get here?" she asks, looking around them at the large, elegant room.

Her question makes Castle nervous, and he wonders if the spell is about to break, her earlier, seriously out of character behavior just some aberration in the space-time continuum. But he realizes that if that's the case, then he has nothing to lose. So, he takes a roll of the dice and says,

"We followed our hearts?"

It's a tentative suggestion, and Kate blinks at him, stunned (in a good way he hopes), before the sweetest smiles breaks out across her face, and she reaches up to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"You, sweet, silly man. I meant 'The Plaza' _here_, not 'you and me' _here_. I know how _we _got here, Rick - sheer blind faith on your part, and pure dumb luck on mine. I owe you. For sticking by us, and for dancing with that tramp today," she confesses, grinning.

"Who? Marietta?" he asks, confused.

"_Oh_, it's Marietta _now_, is it?" teases Kate, as Castle looks down at her, punch drunk with love for this woman lying beneath him, and kicking himself for mentioning the Latin dancer's name.

"Kate Beckett, are you jealous?" he asks, delighted and incredulous all at once.

"Shut up, Castle. Where's that Champagne?" she asks, shoving him in the chest, determined to avoid answering his question.

Because the truth is that watching him dance with that random, attractive stranger had sparked all kinds of jealousy within her. Enough for her to throw herself at him in class, and then drag him off to a hotel room in the middle of the afternoon. Because suddenly, after months of waiting until she was ready, she realized with a jolt that she needed to claim him before another soul could swoop down to rest him from her. She has an impulsive, irrational urge to brand him, and fix a return address label to him just in case he ever gets lost.

And Kate is scared. She needs to get this next part out of her system, to find out if they have any longevity to them beyond years of pent up lust, before Richard Castle gets a chance to break her heart.

"Champagne coming up," he agrees, rising from the bed and pulling her upright with him.

Kate's dress had ridden up when they'd landed on the mattress, and so she smooths the skirt down over her thighs.

Castle pouts a little then wanders over to the ice bucket on the coffee table to withdraw a bottle of Laurent Perrier. Beads of condensation drip from the sides of the chilled bottle, and ice cubes tinkle and crack in its wake.

"What's the pout for, Castle?" she asks, watching him unwrap the foil and unwind the metal cage from the top of the bottle.

"Nothing. I was enjoying the view is all," he says, hoping his honesty isn't going to get him in trouble. She has a wicked glint in her eye, and he wouldn't put it past her to inflict some special brand of pain on him today.

"Well, get that opened, and we'll see what we can do about improving the view," she says seductively, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow while she watches him pop the cork, and then pour two frothing glasses of Champagne with trembling fingers.

* * *

><p>She's on her second glass, the slightly bitter, pepper and grapefruit liquid loosening her limbs and her tongue as bubbles tickle the back of her throat, and threaten to rush up her nose.<p>

"Come here," she says to Castle, holding out her hand.

They're sitting on the bed; her back is propped up against the headboard, legs stretched out in front, and he's lying down at the foot, watching her. He takes the offered hand and crawls up to join her, shoulders bumping as he plumps a pillow and sits back beside her.

"You rang, m'lady?" he jokes in an attempt to mask the nervous tension he's feeling.

"Castle, are _you_ nervous?" Kate asks playfully, clinking her glass against his.

"Well, damn, just say what you're thinking, Beckett," he laughs, shaky and most definitely nervous now.

She's throwing him off his game, and making him worse. Brave, straightforward Kate, instead of fragile, avoiding Beckett, will take some getting used to. And it looks like this is going to be his first lesson.

"Well?" she pushes, sipping delicately from the crystal flute, and nudging him with her elbow. "Nervous, Rick?"

"If I say yes will you think less of me?"

"If you tell me what you _think_ I want to hear I'll a) know that you're lying, and b) think less of you. Truth's what counts now," she says, drawing her knees up and turning to look at him. "No more hiding. No more lies. No more dancing around this…us."

Her hand grazes his shoulder, index finger tracing behind his ear, until it tickles too much and he tips his head to one side, trapping her hand against his shoulder to stop the delicious torture.

"Nice pun," he says to her dancing reference, avoiding as long as possible, until she arches an eyebrow at him, demanding his answer. "Truth?" he repeats.

"Truth," she agrees, nodding and waiting for him to confess.

"Nervous would definitely be one way to describe it," he admits, reaching a hand out to lightly graze her knee. "You?"

Please say yes, he thinks, or I'll sound completely and utterly pathetic.

"No. I was, but not anymore. I know what I want," she says plainly, confidently.

"Are you drunk?" blurts Castle, watching her as she pours another soupcon of Champagne down her throat.

Kate laughs, and this time the bubbles do their stuff, rushing up her nose and making her cough.

"_What_? You think the only way I'd be here with you is if I'm drunk?" she asks, amused by his insecurity.

"Thought had crossed my mind."

"Castle, where have you _been_ these last months?"

Her honesty is killing him. He wants to get back to the hot looks and the touching they were doing on the dance floor, because this little truth sharing session is threatening to expose him. There's a severe risk he might just let go all of the pent up emotion that he's been stuffing down somewhere deep inside for months in one great rush of sobbing and tears. Not manly at all.

"I've been right here, Kate," he replies, fighting to control his voice as he takes her hand and flattens it in between his own.

"I know you have. Waiting. For me," she admits quietly, her eyes kind and warming. An apology is swimming there amongst hazel swirled with green and sparks of gold. "No more, Castle. I'm…are _you_ ready? Do you still want…?" she hesitates.

She looks vulnerable for a second and it bolsters him.

"_You?_" he breathes, unable to believe she even has to ask the question.

She nods, dips her head to look at her small hand sandwiched between his large, soft, capable ones. Hands she knows will catch her if she falls.

"Kate. You _really_ have to ask?"

The room is so quiet that the silence is becoming oppressive. He tries to keep his voice low, but still the question comes out a little too loud.

"I want you to be sure."

_Sure!_ Is she nuts?

"I've never been surer…of anything. _Ever,_" he says fiercely.

"Really? _That _sure?" she laughs, nervous now too if the tremor in her voice is any indication.

"But what about you? You said you know what you want. What _is_ that, Kate? I'm…I don't want to misunderstand, or make a mistake, and get this wrong."

It all comes tumbling out in a rush, and Kate's heart plummets at the pain she's sees she's caused him, and the hundred little ways she has diminished him, beaten out his cocky self-assurance with her put downs and rejection until he is reduced to this bundle of uncertainty. She blushes as she thinks of all the subtle ways she's told him that he's not worthy…of her, when the exact opposite is true.

"Castle, I love you," she admits softly, assuredly, as if this fact should be patently obvious to him.

It's the best apology she can think to offer, the one truth she knows he needs to hear for the healing to begin. He says nothing, and if his stillness is anything to go by, she thinks he may even have given up on breathing. Time for the resurrection.

"I love you, and I'm sure. I'm _so_ sure. I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long. Forgive me?" she asks, raising her eyes to his, dark lashes lifting to reveal a sparkling, hopeful fearlessness that makes him catch his breath.

* * *

><p>He doesn't trust his voice, not with something as big and important as this. So he takes her Champagne flute from her hand and places it on the night stand, and then he captures her face between his hands and he kisses her, allowing all of the passion and the emotion he's been carrying around in anticipation of this day to flow into her.<p>

Their emotional rawness is quickly transformed back into desperate need in an act of alchemy precipitated by that single, breathtaking kiss. The future begins in that moment, on that bed, as Kate's arms encircle his neck, clinging on as he breaks her open, exposing parts of her heart that have never seen the light of day. He nourishes this fragile, starved thing with his love and his caresses, tenderly soothing her body back to life, before whipping her up into a desperate, aching frenzy.

His hands are in her hair when he feels her nimble fingers begin working their way down the buttons on his shirt. Then she's pulling on his belt buckle, and popping open the button on his pants as he runs his tongue down her throat to the base of her neck, nipping lightly on her clavicle then soothing the reddened skin with soft kisses.

Kate arches beneath him, and then resumes tugging at his clothing, her breath coming in ragged, uneven pants.

"Help me," she implores, and he lets go of her long enough to strip off his clothes.

"Your turn, Kate," he tells her, undoing the tie at the back of her dress and swiftly unwrapping her like a special gift.

The soft, grey jersey falls apart in his hands, opening to reveal the one sight he has always known would surpass every expectation and every hopeless fantasy his creative imagination could conjure up. He's a man of words, but he has none eloquent enough to describe the woman beneath him, so he gives up trying and worships her with his body instead.

When he slides over her she lets her eyes fall closed, allowing herself to feel her way through this moment by surrendering to his touch alone. His lips graze her cheek, her eyelids, teasing and holding back. She tries hard to contain her need, to lay still and be good, but desire is building within her, an urgent and painful ache that she can't control, and finally she has to give in to it, finding his mouth with hers, her eyes still closed.

Castle groans in surprise at the sudden assault as she forces her tongue inside, wet and demanding, stealing the breath from his lungs. He adapts to her pace, matching her need, listening to what she's telling him without any words.

Her hands roam his back, his sides, nails wounding occasionally, as she pulls him roughly against her. Her legs are tangling with his as she kisses him frantically, her hips working rhythmic circles underneath him.

"Kate, slow down," he whispers, trying to sooth the urgent, wild part of her that doesn't believe in love or forever.

"Castle," she chokes. "Please? I need you," she begs.

_Begs. _Kate Beckett just begged him, but he has lost the urge to crow. Just wants to give her whatever she wants if it means he sees her laugh and smile at him everyday from now on.

* * *

><p>So he gives in to her plea, and he claims her, slowly, carefully at first, delighting in the feel of her surrounding him. Her eyes fly open, desperate panic in them, until she sees him looking down at her, and her face softens, her body opening up for him.<p>

They move together, gently, unhurriedly, taking their time as they experience one another in this new and richly intimate way; intrepid explorers.

Castle drops his head to her right breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue and then sucking gently until Kate's moans drive him to buck his hips harder into her. Their rhythm increases. The blood pounds in his ears.

"I think we finally found our groove," Kate says with a breathy laugh.

"Yeah, waiting for us out there on that dance floor. Who knew?" Castle murmurs against her neck, trailing a line of butterfly kisses all the way up to her left ear.

Kate hooks her leg around his waist, and her hands slide down to cup his buttocks, her fingers stroking soft, smooth skin as she pulls him deeper with every shared thrust.

"Mmm," she hums, her mouth dry, throat constricting. "So close. Oh god. So…"

"Let go, Kate. I've got you," he tells her, reaching between them to stroke her, fingers grazing hidden flesh, wet and silky, eliciting a helpless whimper.

"Oh god. Castle," she moans, and he feels her speed up, clinging on tight. She lasts a final few seconds before she shatters around him, feathering him with her tremors until a sob catches in her throat and her body relaxes.

He looks deep into her eyes when he comes a handful of heartbeats later, cradling her to his chest. Shockwaves pass through his body, turning his muscles rigid, driven to the point of ecstasy by his desire for the warm, sensual woman beneath him.

* * *

><p>When they finally slide apart, they're both laughing hard, freed from the boundaries that had kept them constrained and apart for so long.<p>

Castle rolls onto his side and wraps Kate up in his arms, his lips resting against her shoulder as she curls into the arc of his body.

"Did we just perfect the tango?" he whispers, his heart still beating out a frantic rhythm.

"I don't know about _perfect_, but I'm going to insist that we keep on practicing, partner," replies Kate, smiling against his hot, flushed skin.

Castle agrees without hesitation.

"Give me five minutes and we can head back to the floor," he says, with a wicked grin. "I think dancing with you just became my new, favorite hobby."

_The End_ (for sure this time).

A/N: I've got a five-hour layover in Newark Airport tomorrow, so I'm going to get back to updating Playing For Time. I hope you had fun with this one. Reviews would be much appreciated.


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